Little Monster
by Susanna King
Summary: "Y'know." The Joker started, causing her to turn her head and focus on him rather than the burning mountain of cash in front of them. "I don't think I've ever had a better time setting things on fire with anybody but you, pumpkin... You might just be my very BEST friend in the whole wide world." (Set in Dark Knight)
1. Chapter 1

**hhhh**

* * *

Two slightly pink hands tied the creamy white bow to a rose colored sundress.

Sara moved her hands to her hair, parted down the middle, framing her face until every detail was exact to his specifications. Strawberry blonde hair was ran through her fingers lightly, curls breaking until they were just pretty waves just around the base of her neck.

With a brief check with the digital clock on her hotel room's bedside table (The time was 9:45) she slid on the flats that were waiting for her by the door. They were just going to get dirty by the time they got there. After all, it _was_ in the Narrows, and underground. The puddles and dust and who knows what else would just tarnish the pretty things in no time, unless someone carried her.

One of the two men who were waiting for her offered her his suit jacket, which she refused.

Her arms went behind her back, walking on tiptoes through the hall, her plain navy eyes on the tan diamond pattern in the burgundy carpet. Step, step, step. Her tip toes remained inside of the diamonds, deliberately taking her time. The two dark men in their blue suits had to wait for her in the middle of the hall several times until they got to the elevator.

"Gambol is waiting for you in the car." One of them said, pressing the button for her before stepping out of the elevator. Sara stopped remembering any of their names. They were... 'Let go' often, so what was truly the point? Shiny metal doors closed and left her staring at her own delicate reflection. Old tunes was filling the small box she was in. Sara watched the red numbers go down until they reached '1' and ding'd! pleasantly.

The lounge and front desk of the hotel was packed, people sitting at the bar/restaurant in the corner for brunch, people talking on the scarlet sofas and love seats next to the large flatscreen that was playing the recent news. The news that said that a local bank was robbed. The bank where they had pulled their money and stored in the vault.

She bounded forward, walking past the chattering couples who likely had no idea that the young woman could snap their necks without a care.

The blonde opened up the glass door to the brisk morning that Gotham held for her and without pausing she walked to the sleek black car and slid into the back next to Michael Gambol. The large, gruff man didn't even get off the phone when she got in, only gestured with his hand for her to greet him.

"I don't care how much money that freak took, I care how he got it. I want twice as many of guards, you understand me? Every motherfucker with a handgun should be there protecting the cash." Gambol demanded into his cellphone after Sara pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and buckled herself in, hearing the sound of his phone turn off while the driver took them to the Narrows.

/~/

Sara kept to Gambol's arm as they stepped into the old warehouse. It was freezing there, but she did not voice her displeasure. She didn't need to, Michael removed his large overcoat and draped it over her shoulders.

"The meeting room will be warmer for you." He told her, directing her around a suspiciously large puddle of liquid that she couldn't quite name. So far, her shiny little flats were surviving the trip to the Narrows.

They parted, Sara walking through the metal detector first. She didn't have any weapons on her, but she did have metal fillings in her teeth, which they inspected for a short moment before letting her through.

Gambol's two guns and pocket blade were taken and placed in a bucket for him. He sat in his chair, and the boys surrounded behind him, signaling their loyalties. He liked to dress in fine suits, she noticed. To him, a suit meant more. And if everyone he hired wore them, they weren't just thugs, but businessmen. Sara tilted her chin, strawberry blonde hair falling delicately over her shoulder as she observed the nameless gang members behind her boss. They may look pretty, but they were no different than the men on the streets passing out cocaine and other such drugs.

She sat on one of the arms of Gambol's chair. Her feet braced against the table, her body leaning into her boss.

She was simply there to protect him. Sara cared not for the meeting, or even what it was about. Two men were bringing in a large television, resting it at the end of the table. An asian man appeared on the screen, one she didn't recognize, but whose voice was familiar. He worked investments, if she recalled.

The young blonde ignored the talk, even when Maroni winked at her in a fashion he must have thought would entice her. Of course, it could have been to antagonize Michael, because his arm tightened around her waist immediately afterwards.

The man was very possessive of his little bodyguard. So much so that he often had her share a hotel room with him. He paid her a small fortune so she would protect him to the very best of her ability, and he wouldn't have himself poisoned in the middle of the night simply because she was in the room next door, taking a split second too long to reach him.

Back in his house, he didn't push that. Her rooms were directly across from his and his wife. The proximity was enough for him.

"Who do you think?" Maroni mumbled. "Two bit whack job. Wears a cheap purple suit and make up. He's not the problem, he's a nobody. The problem is our money being tracked by the cops."

Sara didn't care about their money problem. Her eyes wandered to the door, where the two guards who should be standing on either side were gone. Blue eyes were narrowed intently there as she was positioned stiff against her boss.

"Thanks to Maroni's well played sources, we know the police have identified our banks using marked bills, and are planning to take your funds today. And since the new enthusiastic DA has put all of my competitors out of business, I'm your only option." The Asian man said.

"So what do you propose?" Maroni asked, looking interested.

"Moving all deposits to one secure location. Not a bank."

Gambol didn't seem to notice her change, more focused on the conversation at hand. Sara scooted closer to him, her eyes intent on that one area of the room. There was someone listening to them.. "Where then?" He gestured with his large hands.

"No one can know but me. If the police were to gain leverage over one of you, everyone's money would be at stake."

"What stop him getting to you?" Chechen lowly inquired with a pointed finger towards the television.

"I go to Hong Kong. Far out of Dent's jurisdiction. And the Chinese will not expedite one of their own." Lao said on the television.

A bit of green was just underneath the small boxed window in the large wooden door.

Sara turned quickly back to Gambol, blonde locks moving around her head as she started on roughly tugging on his large bicep. He looked up to her sharply, just when the echos of a sarcastic laugh greeted their ears.

She began to get up from her spot, prepared to kill whoever walked in the door when her boss' dark hand grasped her leg, pushing her to sit back down next to him. He was glaring at the person who just strode within the meeting room.

The man was very odd looking. His face had been painted a heavy white color. Lines in the paint betrayed his true skin tone, which was tanned. Black surrounded his eyes, and his mouth was painted red and smeared up in a horrible looking smile. His teeth were a dark yellow, such a yellow that it was likely fake, painted on just as the rest of him.

Green locks were stringy and greasy looking, hanging around his face. And a new looking purple suit adorned his body, along with leather gloves in the very same shade. He looked much like a predator, stalking in to see the little creatures below himself.

He was funny looking.

"And I thought my jokes were bad." He said, voice gravelly as he approached them, heavy in his walk.

Gambol's large hand tightened around her leg. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have my boy here rip your head off." He angrily said to the man. His fury didn't phase the clown-ish man, in fact, it almost seemed to _amuse_ him.

"How about a magic trick?" He slammed an old, yellow pencil into the table. "I'm going to make this pencil _disappear_."

Michael gestured to the man sitting next to him, who stood up and started in on the Joker. He was roughly grabbed by the back of the head, and then shoved down onto head first onto the pencil protruding from the table, then thrown onto the floor.

"TA-DAH! See it's, it's _gone_." He growled, pulling himself up a chair and sitting in front of where he impaled the man. He wouldn't be missed, Sara thought. There were a dozen more where he had come from.

The Joker's bright, beady eyes looked around the table, particularly on her, where she was sitting delicately on top of the wood next to Gambol.

"And by the way, the suit wasn't cheap. You oughta know, you bought it." He re-buttoned his suit coat, neatly. He seemed to impress the leader of the Chechen mob.

Gambol got up quickly, his massive body hulking over her, and the others as he prepared to harm the clown himself. But Chechen stopped him.

"I want to hear proposition."

The Joker licked his oily painted lips, dark eyes looking from the Chechen to Gambol. And then on the petite thing that was in front of the large man.

Sara took a fistful of Gambol's coat, looking up at his snarling face. She tugged twice on the expensive fabric, but he didn't look down at his small bodyguard at all. Instead, he seeming continued his loathing look towards the odd man as he slowly returned to his seat. His large hands rested on her stocking covered thighs, squeezing them to a point where it gave her small pains. But she didn't make a noise.

"Let's wind the clocks back a year." The Joker rumbled, his voice coarse. "These cops and lawyers wouldn't _dare_ cross any of you."

"I mean, what happened? Didja, ja balls drop off? Mm? See, a guy like me-"

"Freak." Gambol said hatefully, his hands pressing deeply into her skin likely to leave marks, little finger shaped bruises on her. The boys behind him starting mumbling, snickering to themselves in agreement.

"A guy like me.. Look, listen. I know why you chose to have your little, ahem, group _therapy_ sessions in broad day light. I know why you're afraid to go out at night." He breathed out, his eyes lingering particularly on Sara. " _The Batman._ "

She let out a small sound, one to alert Gambol. It worked, but he did not look guilty about accidentally harming her, more intent on the clown who was propositioning them. There'd be something pretty for her on her desk that night.

"See Batman has shown Gotham your true colors, un _FOR_ tunate _LY_. Dent? He's just the beginning. And as for uh, the television's so called _plan_? Batman has no jurisdiction. He'll find him, and make him SQUEAL." The Joker roughly and rudely pointed at Lao, who turned off his video chat with them.

"I know the squealers when I see 'em."

"What do you propose?" Chechen asked heavily, his mumbling irritating her, at least compared to the way the Joker spoke. It was purposeful and exaggerated compared to the foreigners accented voice.

"It's simple, we ah _KILL_ the Batman." Chuckles and laughs echoed throughout the room. Gambol, he looked very tired just then.

"If it's so simple, why haven't you done it yet?" Maroni asked, that stupidly smug look of his ever-present on his face. Sara's navy eyes darted from him and then back to the Joker, whose intense threatening self was making difficult for her to size him up. It was hard to determine how much of his body's bulk was made up simply from his purple coat. It wouldn't do well for her to be taken off guard by this rabid man.

"If you're good at something, never do it for free." He growled, pointing directly at Maroni's face, whose annoyance showed.

Chechen asked him something again.

"Uh, _half._ " The boys all laughed, from each of the members. But she stayed stone cold, staring at the Joker. His black coated eyes met hers, and in that moment she could have sworn that she had just looked the Devil himself right in the eyes. He was smoldering, like fire, but his interior remained chilly and frozen. Everything he did was both an act and himself. Even the way he had painted his face, it showed both care and discord. He wanted to be intimidating, but also as foolish looking as he pleased. He was faking it. Just like she was. Sara tilted her head, blonde locks cascading over her shoulder before she rose her pink-ish hand, giving him a tiny wave at her hip, not breaking their stare. None of the others noticed.

He grinned openly at her cold acknowledgement, baring his dark yellow painted teeth in it. He inched his gloved pointer finger up and down in his own small wave. It made a leathery creaking sound. It made the corners of her mouth curve up in the smallest of smiles.

His eyes had the promise of laughter and murder in them.

"You're crazy."

Now, it spelled for a **slaughter**. "No I'm not. No I'm no _T_."

"If we don't deal with this now, soon-" He gestured with his hands, before landing them on Gambol. "Little ah, Gambol here, won't be able to get a _nickel_ for his Grandma."

Michael slapped his hand down on the table in fury, pushing himself away from the table and making his chair topple over. "ENOUGH from the clown!" He roared, brown eyes flashing dangerously.

"Sara!" He growled for her.

She pushed herself off of the table and began to stride calmly towards the Joker, every movement deliberate and dainty. He pushed himself away from the table and his hands were already pulling a string from his coat, revealing the inside. At least 10 hand grenades were sewn into the inside of his coat, and the string he had his thumb within was attached to each of their keys.

"ATATATATA. Let's not _blow_ this.. Out of proportion." He said, threatening everyone including himself. Sara stayed standing close to him, her hands at her sides, eyes watching him. But he wasn't paying attention to her, he was watching Gambol.

Everyone backed away from the table in fear.

"You think you can steal from us and just walk away?" Michael hissed, showing his teeth and the Madonna gap between his front two.

"Yeah."

"I'm puttin' the word out. Five hundred grand for this clown dead. A million alive, so I can teach him some manners first."

The Joker seemed to realize that the meeting was over now that Gambol's patience had run it's course.

"Alright, why don't you guys give me a call when you want to start taking things a LITTLE more seriously." He said, his voice a bit more nasal now as he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a playing card.

"Here's my card." He said, showing each of them that it was merely a Joker card before reaching his arm out and offering the card to Sara, his lips upturned in a grin.

She took the card from him. The Joker nodded to her before turning back to the rest of the Mob, lightly shaking his hand that had the string tied to it and walking backwards to the door, kicking it open and exiting the building quickly.

Gambol grabbed the edges of the table and flipped it over, making it crash loudly onto the ground.

* * *

 **bglah**


	2. Chapter 2

Clowns weren't funny, Sara concluded.

In only roughly 15 minutes, The Joker managed to infuriate half the mob and impress the others.

He could almost be funny.

The strawberry blonde turned to look at her large boss from her place at the hotel window. He had indeed gone through with his threat of putting a bounty on the Joker's head. Dead or alive, he told every scum-dumpster in Gotham. She found it very unlikely that it would achieve anything but more nameless men dead in the middle of the streets. Likely pick-pocketed after death by other such men. That was Gambol's problem, he always underestimated his foes. Of course, with herself on his arm she annihilated the threats that got too close to home. But she certainly couldn't be everywhere at once.

They hadn't gone 'home' just yet. They stayed in the penthouse of the hotel they were staying in, where he had ordered a large bottle of expensive scotch. Most of the men had gone back to their own rooms, only allowing two who were sitting in the couches smoking cigarettes and watching the news. The new DA appeared on the huge screen, being interviewed for something by the Gotham newspaper.

Sara got up from her seat and walked behind the white couch, navy eyes on the television screen. Harvey Dent was a handsome, charismatic man with yellow hair and long dimples in his cheeks and a cleft in his chin. He was very eager in his attempts against the violence in Gotham. Especially fervent in his quest to disband the rampant organized crime that made their roots in Gotham City. She hoped that he knew what he was getting himself involved in. It would be a shame to see him burned from the flames he was taunting. He really was very handsome.

She touched her pale cheek, pressing her fingers into the soft flesh there and making an indent of a dimple there, much like the DA's were. Her fingers couldn't manage to mimic the feature well enough.

The bottle of scotch arrived, but she only just glanced at the doorman who had it in his gloved hands. He was a nobody. The bottle was still wrapped in it's casings.

"Sara." Gambol called for her, twisting the cork out of the glass with the screw. She lingered at the couch for a second longer before returning to her boss. He started to pour two glasses of butterscotch colored liquid. She was handed the smaller of the two, with barely an inch of the alcoholic beverage.

The drink tasted foul. Sara pushed it away and he took it back after touching her chin.

"Get some sleep while it's still daylight." He ordered her, gesturing to the adjacent room where the large bed remained. She turned back to look at the two dark skinned men who had since removed their jackets and were now looking over their shoulders to watch the dangerous thing that their Boss hired to protect him. Navy eyes moved to brown.

Gambol only repeated his order, and she complied.

Sara woke when night began to fall.

Her bag was in the room when she woke. Gambol was likely still in the other room, as she didn't see him.

She removed her sleeping clothes, folded them neatly, and then returned them to her bag. Her 'day' clothes were already laid out for her. Stockings were pulled on and clipped. A peach-colored A-line skirt was pulled over them. It had a zipper instead of buttons. The top had a peter pan collar and shiny blue buttons and a single pocket over the right breast. The cardigan was short-sleeved and was a navy color. It had black buttons.

Her hair was combed and pinned on one side with a pretty clip.

A small, plain, black folded knife was placed in her pocket before she went out to the other room. The boys had returned, and once again had their coats on.

"We're headin' out." One of them told her.

Sara nodded and left with them.

/~/

The trip they took was short. One of their hideouts, where Gambol liked to settle business. Specifically drugs being sold on his territory, as well as pimps and others paying their dues in order to not be completely destroyed by him.

She was still a bit fatigued as they pulled in, letting herself lean against the large man as he led her inside and to the chair that he bought for her. It was a blue love seat, that was sized perfectly for her. A spotless, white, fur throw tucked over the back of it for her to curl up in pleasantly. But for now, she preferred to simply sit there quietly, watching as the large man worked.

Sara was a constant presence as a threat for the ton of drug dealers that thought they could take on Gambol in a crime war.

They hated the look in her eyes when she watched them. She stared at them right in the eyes, and her eyes were a navy that looked like they were bottomless, like the night sky. The rare blinks she made were the only proof that she was not in fact a beautifully sculpted marble statue.

The man that Gambol was dealing with now was a greasy man, whose head was bald of any hair, and dressed in too-long slacks and a white disco-suit jacket. He was squirming in his seat, not just from the stare that Sara was greeting him with, but likely from the cocaine residue that remained underneath his white nostrils. The conversation, both from Gambol and the twitchy looking man, was very dull and uninteresting. Sara took advantage of this and turned her attention towards the small window. Unfortunately, the clouds were blocking out the shining, white moon that night.

A sudden, small bark caught her attention, as it was the most interesting thing to happen since they had arrived.

Sara turned her head, seeing no canine in the room, and that neither Gambol nor the drug dealer had brought any in. Her boss didn't like animals, never let any inside of any of his hideouts.

So she stood up, brushed her skirt down, and walked out with careful steps, following the sound of barking, which took her outside in the alley. Indeed, there was a canine there. It was small, with floppy ears, and a black-tan curly coat. The dog was being held by a man with a long, purple trench coat and equally purple leather gloves. His face was painted as white as the moon would have been, the black surrounding his eyes making them look like black holes in the universe, sucking everything in sight.

The Joker smiled at her, yellow-inked teeth bare. Then, he waved at her with his fingers, making the leather gloves squeak with the movement. "Hello doll-face." He greeted her.

Sara tilted her chin to the side, staring at him without blinking for a few long moments before she held out her arms. She wanted the canine.

He tutted at her, shaking his finger at her. "Not yet. First, I'd like to get to know you." He told her, damp green locks swinging from his head with each of his movements.

"If you may ah, dearest Sara, whilst you accompany me on a stroll?" The Joker asked her, bowing over at the waist, holding the dog with one arm, hair lankily falling over in a way that dirty green vines would. He then looked back up at her sharply, his smile closed, but just as eager as the previous one.

Sara turned her head to the door she had come from, where Gambol's voice echoed from.

"No worries, sweetness! You'll be back here before anyone knew you ever left!" He said, raising his painted eyebrows, creasing the paint on his forehead, revealing the tanned flesh underneath.

It didn't take her long to decide, she just took a step towards him, not looking back.

/~/

He had given her the dog, who he had put a light pink leash on, but Sara still preferred to hold the small, warm animal in her arms.

The Joker lead her through the Narrows as if it were a simple park they were wandering in. Together, they created a dangerous air, something every thug and rapist on the street seemed to unconsciously recognize, as they avoided the two like they were the Bubonic Plague. He lead her without an arm around her, but simply trusted that she'd follow after him like they had agreed.

"How do you feel about jokes, honey-bun?" He asked, nasal and light in his question. Sara turned to look at him plainly. He nodded his head like a bobble-doll, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"I get that. You probably haven't heard a lot of 'em, working for Gambol." Joker said. Then, he turned to her, whispering now. "See, a guy who can't take a joke, would never be able to tell a great joke. It's the ah, natural order." He murmured, his voice taking a gravelly-tone.

Sara turned her head back towards where they were walking.

"I'll tell you a good one. Why can't a nose be twelve inches long?" He inquired with a grin. She tilted her head, but still did not look back at him. "Because then it'd be a foot!" He shouted the punchline, and then proceeded to cackle loudly at it, making several people on the same sidewalk as them to cross the street to avoid passing by them. She blinked, the corner of her mouth curling up at the way he was so completely enthralled with his own joke. He even slapped his knee several times to accentuate his amusement.

Then he looked at her, pleased at the curve in her mouth. "I'll tell you another one sometime soon." He promised, in a way that she was sure would worry anyone else. But it didn't faze her at all, and the Joker liked that. The glint in his black eyes told her that plainly.

Sara took a look at his coat. The last time she saw it, there were grenades sewn into the seams.

"I know. I miss 'em too, but ah, it's a little inconvenient, carrying all those around." He said, pulling open the trench coat, revealing only knives in his pockets.

One of the knives inside took her attention, as it had a pretty daisy on the handle of it. So she reached out and took it out of the pocket, looking it over in her hand. It had a shiny black handle, several white daisies along it, with yellow buds. Looking back up at Joker's white, painted face, she reached in her pocket, took out the plain black knife that she had, and put it in the sleeve that the daisy-adorned one used to be in.

He didn't stop her at all, nor did he say anything to protest against her actions of taking what she wanted from him. Actually, he looked satisfied with her doing so, like he put it there purposely to attract her attention. Sara did not care why he put it there. She wanted it, so she would have it.

"I like you." He said to her, putting his gloved hand over hers, holding the back of her hand and her knuckles. An odd way to take someone's hand, she noted. Though, her own experience with people was limited, so perhaps this was a new thing to do. Either way, she did not pull away from him. She didn't mind him nor his touch or smell, or the way he was scrutinizing her, mirroring how she was staring at him.

Then, he relaxed his broad shoulders down, turning them towards an apartment complex.

"Pick a number, sugar." Joker drawled, looking at the two story building. It was nicer than it should have been in the Narrows.

Sara raised her hand, offering him the peace sign.

"Ahhh." He sighed nasally, then started towards the bottom half of the apartments, finding the door with a steel eleven on it before pounding on it with the side of his fist. It took some time for anyone to answer the door, leaving the two felons to stand there in a comfortable silence, with nothing but the occasional cricket making noise. Even the canine was quiet in Sara's arms.

A tired looking man answered the door, who became very alert at the sight of the two of them standing there. He was handed the dog quietly by her, and the man's arms shook as he slowly took it. The dog licked the mans face a few times, but he did not move at all. Just held the small thing while staring at the two of them in complete fear.

"Now you take care of that, understand?" Joker cooed, reaching out and grasping the man's face, forcing him to nod up and down in response. "Good. We'll know otherwise." He finished, grasping the door handle, pushing the man back, before slamming it in his own face. Sara, arms now chilly without the warm dog, let her arms hang down as she turned to look up at him. He cracked his neck side to side before turning on his heel and wandering back down the street where they came, Sara accompanying him.

He left her at the door to Gambol's hide out with a dandelion he plucked from in between the cracks in the concrete where the earth managed to grow once again, bowed at the hip, before strolling away, hands in his pockets and whistling a tune.

Sara turned away from the sight and walked back inside, a small smile on her face.

* * *

 **Look, I updated!**

 **R &R**


	3. Chapter 3

When Sara stepped into the bedroom she usually resided in when she returned home with Gambol the next day, she instantly had known that someone had been there other than the Spanish maids that her boss had employed there. It was not the obvious signs of his young boy, who would leave a trail of legos and other such toys behind him in his wake, nor was it his wife, who brought with her the elegant scent of high quality perfume.

She closed her eyes, holding them them that way for a few seconds before allowing her lashes to flutter open.

There was a single small white daisy on her pillow. It was small and it's stem was short, leading her to believe it was likely just picked from where it had been growing in the center of a patch of grass rather than purposely grown. Underneath it was a playing card, adorned on it a black-outlined drawing of a Joker. It's smile outlined in red and drawn up in a happy smile, while it's eyes were simply black and curved outward, it's hat large with yellow bells on all three ends of it. It stuck out to her with importance, as it had the tell-tale traces of gunpowder and gasoline lingering on the glossy cover of the card.

Sara took the card between delicate fingers, her eyes lingering on the wide, almost Cheshire grin of the Joker card before she put it away in the trunk in the front of her bed, between the pages of her poetry book, closing it tight, and returning it to the recesses of the wooden trunk. She allowed her hands to linger on top of her possessions, scraping her nails over the mahogany designs that littered over the trunk. No doubt he had been through here as well. What impressed her the most was how he had neatly arranged everything to how she had it before, right down to every fine detail. A fascinating trait for a man such as him to have.

The little daisy was placed on her side table, leaving it there to slowly dry out and die, as it was meant to now that it had been plucked out of the warm Earth by creaking, purple gloves worn by a painted man. She raised her fingers to her nose and inhaled the scent of destruction...

That night, she sat quietly in her bed, watching a brightly lit screen across the room, reading the black outlined subtitles silently as she listened to the noises of the house at night.

While her face remained plain and stoic, inside she was hoping for a change. And that change was in the form of the Joker. When she looked into his eyes, she saw blackness. While his face was drawn up in horrible grins, his eyes, she noticed, were always as cold and endless as her own when she looked into the mirror. Her round-ish eyes, the color of a dirty gutter filled with rain water, of a dreadfully cloudy sky, looked as if there was nothing behind them at all. Sara had been told that when she was a child.

It was nothing that stuck, nor affected her. Every remark that was given to her when she was going through life dripped off of her and into the mud underneath her shoes. The things those had called her in moments of fear were the only proof that she was not merely a ghost, flowing through walls unseen.

Now, when she turned her rainy gaze towards the slowly drying daisy on her table, she felt a jolt! A burst of energy that she had only ever before felt when the life of another was in her hands, about to be snuffed out like a flaming wick on a candle.

This sudden, energetic feeling swelled in her belly and sprang her out of her bed.

/~/

The Joker's domain was in the middle of the Narrows, in an abandoned comedy club whose sign was adorned with a floating pair of arms, one holding a hat, and the other a cream pie. The sign had since been covered in dozens of layers of graffiti, and had one side fallen down from it's post, making it lopsided and creaky when the wind decided to pick up it's speed.

Sara walked forward with all the silence of the dead, brushing past the police tape and through the door without even a murmur.

The inside of the comedy club had clearly been rearranged since it was shut down. Dust was in the corners, creating cobwebs. But what was more important to her, was the sound of laughter. Echoing from upstairs, where the light creaking of wood was directly above her. With a curious tilt of her head, Sara walked towards the back of the club, where a metal staircase was behind the 'Employees Only' door. As she drew closer, towards her goal, she discovered that her heart was pounding quicker than it usually did.

Sara put her hand over her heart, feeling the beating underneath her palm. It was only four seconds swifter, but to her it was like she had run miles.

She placed her hand on the hand rail, letting it follow along the curve of it as she walked up the stairs. Her eyes were greeted by the purple coated man walking along a group of thugs. Some of them looked no older than seventeen, Sara noted, though her attention returned immediately to the Joker's heavy footed walk along the floorboards. The footsteps only seemed deliberate in force, as his black and white dress shoes would wander off path and draw him into odd cuts and curves that made him move and turn oddly.

It took some time for anyone to notice the small figure in the doorway. It ended up being one of the thugs, who cleared his throat and spoke up with an almost frightened, "B-Boss."

The Joker whipped around, his gun pointed at the slight man, finger on the trigger, fully prepared to shoot him for interrupting his concentration. But the _almost_ unnoticeable breathy giggle made him turn towards the door.

After only a handful of heartbeats, a wide, scarlet grin spread across his face, curling at the edges and merging up into his painted scars. It actually made some of his henchmen cringe and recoil from the sight of it. They had no idea who they were working for. They were no different than the nameless boys that Gambol hired. They were replaceable, expendable and easy.

"Honey-flakes, you made it!" He exclaimed, spreading his arms out and above him, as if to welcome her into an embrace. "I'm so glad you got my message." Joker sighed, clapping his gloved hands together in front of his chest as he watched her greedily, taking her in from the strawberry blonde hair on her head right down to the little white and tan Oxfords on her feet.

Sara took delicate steps forward which barely even left marks in the dusty, dirty floor to prove that she had been there at all.

Navy met black. And then he barked, "Everyone out!"

The group of henchmen all acted like a school of fish just then, with a shark moving behind them. All of them rushed out the door just behind her, going around her stock-still figure like she would whip out and bite them if they got too close. With their quick movements, they even managed to make enough of a breeze that made her blue skirt flow out around her knees.

"Now, tell me my little _dove-_ ah... Have you ever danced with the Devil in pale moonlight?" Joker asked, voice high and nasal now as he bent at the hip, his hand out as an offer to her.

She looked at his hand. At the creases in his gloves, at their somehow impeccable appearance despite likely being delved in gasoline and gunpowder and soaked in blood from the last couple of hours. A man like him didn't remain clean, so to speak, very long, and it impressed her to a degree... Sara imagined him at the Chinese corner dry-cleaners, standing in line with a number while waiting for his expensive purple suit. Fully painted in make-up, but dressed as an average man on the street.

Then, she looked at his eyes, which were as dark and cold as her own, before placing her smaller hand in his.

The Joker's smile, if possible, grew, as he wrapped his large fingers around her hand, pulling her closer to himself. Her arm rested atop his, and he took her upper back. They moved in no particular dance, but he simply lead her around the room with wide steps and unnecessary turns in the fantastically dramatic way that he seemed to embody naturally. But Sara didn't skip a beat when she followed where he lead her around the creaking room. The broken, small rectangle of a window let in the light of the moon, washing over them gently in it's pale beauty.

For once, the painted man did not speak, did not babble on like he had on their stroll in the park, but watched her, just as she watched him in turn.

His vibrant movements came to the end, like a song that had been playing had suddenly slowed to signal it's end. The Joker raised his hand, putting it to her cheek. While Sara didn't resist, she still thought the act was odd, as it was nor a caress or a rough pinch. It was merely that, his hand on her cheek.

"Would you like to join me, my belle of the ball?" He asked, hunching his shoulders down so he could look her in the eye. "Because soon, you won't have a master to attend to." He drew out the sound of his words, looking eager for her response to him.

Sara tilted her head, looking at him curiously.

"Ah!" The Joker exclaimed. "I'm glad you asked. I'm going to slice Gambol's throat." He said, a laugh already half out of his throat.

She didn't react to the news, only just reached up to the back of her neck and removed the necklace that Michael had given to her months ago. She gave it to the painted man, not caring what would happen to the little trinket.

"I'll see you tomorrow, honey."

* * *

 **This is an official notice that this Joker will have a shit load of Mark Hamill and Jack Nicholson Joker's in it. Because I adore Mark Hamill so much, especially that laugh of his and the way he brings the Joker to life in the Animated Series is just incredibly classic, too classic not to bring it in to Heath Ledger's take.**

 **So really this is becoming a mosh-posh of psycho-clowning.**

 **R &R!**


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